


Blood and Love

by HKHolmes911



Series: Blood and love [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dark John, Dark John Watson, John is a killer, M/M, Rape, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-03-24 15:25:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3773734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HKHolmes911/pseuds/HKHolmes911
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's supposed death hurt John Watson in more way than imagined. When no one believed in the detective, john did. Now john will do anything to keep Sherlock alive and with him. Even if that means kidnapping young men that look like the detective.  He takes out his anger at Sherlock's death on these kidnapped men, as well as his lust and pain and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood and Love

**Author's Note:**

> There is plot but its mostly porn. the porn is the plot what more would you want.

The smell of blood was strong. It filled the air like a red fog that clung to his skin. His hair slick with sweat, sticking up in odd places as he ran his hands through it. John was panting as he sat in the rusting hard backed chair. He combed his fingers into the mass of dark curls resting on his thigh. They were covered with blood and grime and John relished the way he could brush the dirt way and find the soft strands just underneath. He dug his fingers into the beautiful hair and viciously tore it backwards snapping the head it was attached to up. Satisfaction rolled off him in tangible waves with the each new scream of pain that came from the man below him. The bowed lips opened wide in the perfect “O” and then trembled closed trailing whimpers behind them. The man was kneeling between John’s spread legs. His arms twisted behind his back and lashed together at his wrists and elbows with stiff leather cords. The black slacks John had pulled on the skinny hips were ridding low and revealing just a hint of pail skin that had John’s blood up. The shirt John had dressed him in had originally been a gray button up, but was now stained with dry and fresh blood. Unbuttoned and slipping off the slim shoulders, John was sure he had never seen a more beautiful sight. The pale skin flushed with fear, the eyes closed tight with pain. John let his gaze sweep over the strong chest covered with small cuts and burns, the blood making brilliant pictures on the alabaster skin. John’s cock was hardening again from where he had not even bothered to tuck it back into his trousers. The man below him gave a panicked whimper as John brought up the head and wiped the drop of pre-come across the high cheekbones.  
“Come on, I know you can do it.” He knew the floor was cold and circulation in the bound arms was being cut off.  
“Its your own fault for being such a delectable little slut. Now I’m going to use your mouth one more time. If you make it good, I’ll set you up on the bed, let you rest and have a good night sleep.” John made his voice soft and comforting. Reaching out and brushing his thumb over the red lips. He smiled at the trembling that small touched produced. John worked his way down, gently caressing the features he so longed for.  
“Sherlock, one more time, please.” He smiled down and felt the smooth skin under his hands, reveling it the memories the touch provoked. The chocolate brown eyes came up cautiously. So full of fear and pain, and just that small flicker of hope John saw whenever he started to truly believe the lie he had constructed for himself. The truth came back to John with all it’s crushing weight. Sherlock had jumped. Lestrade and the police had bought the story Moriarty had spun. The media had of course lapped it up like dogs in the desert. The only one that had believed John was Anderson of all people. Those dark chocolate eyes told him about all his failures and everything he had lost. He hated them. John rose from his chair and backhanded the liar across the face. The blow threw the deceiver to the floor. John fisted his hands in the dark hair and ripped the face up. The bastard kept his eyes closed this time. Struggling to keep his balance.  
“I’ll make it good, Please I’ll do whatever you want. please!” His voice was high and shrill. Nothing like the man he was supposed to be. John was angry now. Truly angry in a way that was all to easy to slip into. John knocked the man to the ground again. Screams echoed of the walls in the empty warehouse. Blood started to drip onto the floor and the pathetic traitor lay gasping in pain. John took a breath and looked down at his shoe now splattered with blood. John knelt down jerking the impostor up. The legs skittering over the damp floor struggled to keep up.  
“Sherlock never begged.” He growled, ready to tear, and rip, and kill. He grabbed the switch blade knife that had been hastily stuffed into his pocket, ready to cut out the eyes before him.  
“I’ll be him!” That scream had John stopped in his tracks. knife poised for the strike while the other hand held his target still.  
“I’ll be him. I can be him.”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“I’ll be him. I’ll be him and you wont have to hurt me for not being him. I can be him.” John thought about it for a moment. Could he really have Sherlock back. He looked down at the high cheekbones, the perfect lips and pale skin. Then he saw the cautions hope that emerged in the dark brown eyes. His gaze hardened again, face contorted with rage. How could he have even thought about this, he had failed Sherlock. Let him jump, let him fall.  
“Sherlock had blue eyes.” He growled letting all his hate and despair show in the few words.  
“Yes. I changed them. I had to change them if I wanted to come back.”  
“What?” His anger disappeared with a flash, this shouldn't confuse him. He knew it was a lie, just another lie that was being told to him. There was something in the curve of his spine, and in the tilt of his head that was just purely Sherlock.  
“I wanted to come back. I had to come back. So I changed the color of my eyes, easy enough if you know how.”  
“You came back.”  
“Yes of course I came back.” John reached out to brush his hand over Sherlock’s face. He flinched away from the touch instinctively then came back quickly, nuzzling into the touch to make up for the reflex.  
“This is a lie.”  
“No! Its not a lie! I... I can be him. I am him.” The delusion knew it was a mistake the moment the words left his mouth. He threw himself towards John, begging for mercy, whispering lies into the blood stained air.  
“Shut your filthy mouth. I need to think.” John sat back in his chair pressing his face into his hands. The man that was not Sherlock knelt on the concrete in front of John. His eyes were brown but the high cheekbones and long bow lips were so like the man he wanted them to be. So John made up his mind. John took the pale man’s face in his hands and pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss.  
“Pretend.” This was an order in it’s simplest form. The man with the pail chest and soft skin understood it. John was loath to even think it but the impostor was smart.  
“It’s me Sherlock. Please...Please.” He was hesitant to beg but he did it so well John couldn’t bring himself to hurt his Sherlock. Not now, not again. “Take me to bed. Please.”  
That’s what John did. His picked up the half starved body of his new Sherlock and carefully took him to bed. John made his way to the small refortified cell that had once been an office. The cot was small and creaked. John didn’t care if it made noise or that they couldn't sleep together comfortably. He had Sherlock all to himself, that was all that mattered. He would get a bigger bed soon. If this one behaved himself. He rebound the shaking hands to the bed above the dark curls.The bloody hands twitched with loss of circulation. John pressed his lips to each digit, sucking and licking the life back into them. He made his way down the pale arms taking his knife and slicing away the ruined shirt from his new lovers precious skin. Sherlock shivered as the blood stained knife caressed his pail ribs. John’s lips made their way to sherlock’s neck to his ear, then back down to suck the pooled blood from his collar bones.  
“You are mine.” John whispered as he memorized sherlock’s body with lips and teeth. Sherlock.  
“Yes I’m yours.” The beautiful lips quivered as john claimed them. He could taste blood and iron and fear. Inch by inch john made his way across the skin below him and cleaned it of blood and gore. He had always expected Sherlock to have sensitive nipples, and was disappointed to find he was wrong. He didn’t let that stop him from lavishing attention on the sweet pink nubs. John ground his hard cock in sherlock’s clothed legs. The friction set his nerves on fire. He could have cum like that, with Sherlock writhing underneath him in a way that made his own grinding all the more pleasurable. Instead he pulled himself up and away from the bed. He stood there for a long time simply looking at the beautiful creation in his bed.  
“Tell me what you want.” The great big brown eyes looked up at him. He really didn’t care if there was fear or love in them anymore. They were his and Sherlock would never leave him again. “Tell me.” He was soft and calm and yet in his heart a fire burned. He wanted Sherlock in every way imaginable. Wanted to hold him tight an he slid his cock in that virgin ass. He wanted too see Sherlock scream his name when he pushed toys into him. Sherlock would beg for mercy when john got his hands on a vibrator. John could almost see how Sherlock would crawl to him. How he would tremble with a plug just a bit to big up his ass. John would hold him down and fuck him till Sherlock was nothing more than a whimpering mess. The look in his eyes must have told his Sherlock something of what was in his mind for the dark haired man started to cry and pull at his bonds. He looked up at john with imploring eyes mouthing words that would never be spoken. John felt a cruel smile grace is mouth. He knew just what this was. He may be slower to the point than Sherlock but now he understood. His Sherlock was his. This dark haired man was his to take and break and build back up into whatever he pleases. It pleased him to make Sherlock come back to life. He no longer need these delusions of spinning arms and bloody locks disappearing. He knew that cold dead eyes would never open and look at him. He could have Sherlock. Now and tomorrow and for however long he liked. He could have a many Sherlocks as he wanted. One to scream and one to love and one to hate.  
“Tell me what you want and I promise I will give it to you and more.” John stood at the head of the bed and slid his fingers under the unsteady chin.  
“Let me taste you. Please I need to have you in my mouth and feel you.”


	2. knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John loves his Sherlock.  
> Short and sweet, but filthy.

His voice shook rising and falling in odd places. Cold had set in and the slim muscled arms shivered with it again. John smiled and divested himself of his clothes faster than he ever thought possible. He crawled over sherlock’s splayed form pressing himself into the other mans flesh. Their chests touched with feather light kisses at breath became deeper for john and quicker for the man beneath him. Sherlock let out a wonderful noise somewhere between a sob and a scream when john held the blade up to his face. John lapped up the sound for the shaking lips. He felt heat rush down to his cock as the sound mixed with tears.  
“Lick it clean for me.” John lowered the knife till breath was mixing with the blood.  
“No, Please No. You don’t need to do this. Just let me taste you. I’ll make it good. I promise. Don’t hurt me.” Tears fell thick and fast and the lovely voice broke and whined in fear. John resisted the urge to lick up the salty mess his Sherlock was making.  
“OH sweet. I wasn’t going to hurt you. I just wanted a nice clean knife so I can get you naked for me. Now make it quick before I decide you need to be taught how to follow orders.” John could have cum with the gasping sob that broke his Sherlock. How his shoulders slumped and feet kicked. How the tears stopped, but the shaking grew. The pink tongue darted out and wet the red lips, Then curled up to swipe along the flat of the blade. John was enthralled by the sight before him. The knife reflecting the terror his Sherlock was going through. How his own blood and tears stained the sweet lips. Again and again Sherlock lapped at the blade cleaning it till it shone silver again.  
“Good boy.” John stroked the dark curls away from the pale face. He smoothed away the tear tracks and warmed the trembling arms. John got the small bottle of lubricant john had stored in a set of drawers by the bed. John was just about to burst out of his pants. He cut sherlocks trousers to ribbons always making sure not to tear the precious flesh beneath the thin fabric. John lowered himself over the pale body laid bare beneath him. He took Sherlock’s legs under the shaking knees and pushed them up to meet his shoulders. He lowed himself down to where his cheek rested on the quivering thighs watching the soft cock between them twitch and jerk as john ran the blade of his knife from navel to balls. He caressed the sweet little cock with the flat of his blade. John dragged he sharp point lower and lower each time returning to torture the head of Sherlock’s cock with the dull edge. Finally after he had gotten bored with the terrified screams and agonized begging he let the blade rest on sherlock’s perfectly curved ass.  
“Look at me!” His voice was deep and the brown eyes shot up to lock with his blue. “Stay perfectly still.” Were his only words of warning before the point of the blade was set to rest against the opening of the perfect ass before him. Sherlock body froze even as his mouth gasped back a scream.  
“Now how does that feel baby? You like that?” John was focused completely on the small twitching bud and the silver point moving its hypnotic way around the dark edges. John loved the way the metal reflected the smooth skin he was so eager to mark. He was entranced by the way the muscles moved as if they themselves were shy of the knife.  
He hadn’t been answered. He had asked a question and Sherlock hadn’t answered him. That was nothing new from Sherlock. The Sherlock that had jumped.This was his Sherlock. A Sherlock Holmes that was his to have and hold and make and break. His Sherlock would answer his questions.  
“I asked If you liked it.” John stared strait in to the face of the man he loved and saw every word never spoke, every opportunity missed, all the times he could have, but never did. His voice got low. Soft is a way that he had learned in the heat of war. “Do you like it when I’m about to fuck your worthless ass with a knife and rip into bloody strips. Is that what you’d like?”  
“NO!” A single word screamed out before the man lost all ability to speak. He simply sobbed silently in exhausted desperation. John smiled.  
“Oh my poor baby. Did I scare you?” The dark head nodded as a silent cry wracked the slim body. “My sweet boy you were so strong and now you are just falling apart, what happened? Is it because of this?” John held up the knife. His eyes tracked from the steel in his hand to the quivering hole he had been toying with, and then to the soft cock nestled on the pail stomach.  
“Are you a virgin?” John could have burst with happiness as the silently weeping head nodded again.  
“OH my love you should have said. I will be so very gentle. Can I show you baby? Can I make love to you?” Sherlock opened his dark eyes and stared up at john. Then slowly he nodded his head. His Sherlock. John let the knife clatter to the floor. His new mission was to make Sherlock first time one he would never forget.


	3. Twisted love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what do you think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John makes sure his Sherlock will not forget his first time.  
> Sorry for the short chapter,  
> also the long wait.  
> Sorry I have no excuse, but hey I am now here so... Ta da.

John smoothed the shaking legs. He kissed from the ankles to the curve where the thighs meet the perfect ass. Sherlock had a glassy eyed look in his eyes. He kept his eyes on john as he moved. The bottle of lube was popped open and john luxuriated in the feeling of Sherlock’s unwillingly hard cock slipping between his dripping fingers. The red mouth sang a chores of moans and sighs. From the high scream when john flicked him thumb over the head of Sherlock’s cock and scooped out the drop of pre-cum that sat like a dewdrop at the top, to the low vibrating groan that resonated through the every bone in johns body when he left a stripe over Sherlock's twitching hole with his tongue. The army doctor spent far more time worshiping the area between his lovers legs. John could not pull himself away from that perfect tight hole. He had Sherlock’s legs over his shoulders and spent a good hour making the man before him scream. This time he screamed, not from fear or pain but from the desperate pleasure he was being forced to endure. John licked and sucked and gave just the hint of teeth against Sherlock's rim, and when the brunet was just on the edge of coming john would reach up and wrap a hand around the desperate cock. Choking any chance of release.  
“Please. More. Stop. Don’t. I need. Let me. OH god. Please.”  
The sweet half sentences coming from Sherlock flowed down johns spine like fire. He gave the one last lick at the small ring of muscles. John got up and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s.  
“You ready my sweet.”  
The big brown eyes looked up at him, so afraid so vulnerable so desperate to please, to not be hurt.  
“I’m afraid.”Finally the truth. The only thing John ever wanted.  
“Your afraid it will hurt?” a shy nod and John stroked the moonlight colored skin.  
“It may be uncomfortable at first and a bit of a stretch, but I promise you it wont hurt.” John loved this Sherlock. This Sherlock was so sweet and afraid. He just wanted to gather him up and hide him away from all the evils of the world.  
“We’ll do this together. All right.”A quick nod and john slicked up his cock. The friction felt so good, but he knew it would be nothing compared to the hot tight channel he was about to get. John spread the pale legs and let them wrap around his naked waist. He pushed in. The heat was incredible. The tight grip Sherlock had on his was beyond heaven.the muscles quivered and pulsed trying to pull him in. Sherlock was panting on the bed. His brow furrowed and mouth open gasping for air.  
“You Okay love?”  
“Yes.” The voice was uncertain, high and pinched not in pain but simply confusion.  
“You have to relax. Bare down a little and just relax.” john smiled and held himself perfectly still to give the man under him a chance to acclimatize. It was hell to not just rut into the whole the was squeezing him oh so perfectly, but he did it. He did it for Sherlock.  
“All right.” Sherlock said “You can move now.”  
“O.k love here we go. just remember to keep relaxed.”John thrust forward and let out a moan. God this was perfect. This had nothing to do with the six months he had been celibate, or the mental frustration he had had about his inability to get hard without picturing his best friend. No this was Sherlock and everything was perfect. He was going to make this perfect for Sherlock too. He angled himself this way and that keeping a steady pace trying to find that clump of nerves that would make his Sherlock see stars.  
“Ohhhh god.” There it is. the picture of Sherlock laid out before him writhing on his cock, his eyes almost rolling up, and mouth hanging open whispering half finished words that begged for more, john knew he was done for. He grabbed Sherlock's cock and pulled the man in time to his thrusts. It took less that ten pulls before Sherlock let out a moan to put the gods to shame and sprayed his orgasm all over his heaving belly. John was right behind him and allowed the waves of pleasure to wash over him.  
“Oh gods Sherlock. Oh gods that was beautiful.”  
It was at that moment Johns phone started ringing. The caller ID said Lestrade. John growled. His Sherlock passed out.


	4. Found: New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking  
> Doing  
> Thinking  
> and Taking Action

“What do you want.”  
“John, I need your help.”  
“I’m sure.”  
“We found two bodies.”  
“Congratulations that is your job isn’t it.”  
“They look like they’ve been through hell and molly needs help figuring out what killed them.”  
“Well if they’re missing heads I’d start with that, you never know someone really smart may come along and tell you the same thing.”  
“John please...”  
“Fuck you Greg.”  
“John please. No one has seen you in ages, we’re worries about you.”  
“If only you cared that much about him.”  
“John.”  
“I wonder what a difference that concern would have made to him?”  
“That’s not fair.”  
“Isn’t it. You killed him. You let Moriarty kill him.”  
“John there is no Moriarty.”  
“Don’t call me again.”  
“John.”  
The army doctor closed the line and threw the phone against the wall where it harmlessly bounced down onto the bed with the unconscious man still bound to the head board. John stopped and looked. He just stood there and looked. This man was his. His Sherlock. The skin so clear and pale and him. That mouth was him. Sherlock, was dead. That didn’t mean he had to die. His Sherlock was here and his Sherlock was his.  
An hour later his Sherlock woke and found himself alone. He was clad in a blue dressing gown with his arms unbound and his wrists bandages. He was clean and all his wounds had been bandages with a plastic bowl next to him filled with soup. The slender ankle was tethered to the floor by a chain that was attached to a steel cuff padlocked onto the young man leg. There was about five feet of give that gave the man some freedom. Sherlock ate the soup and then pulled up the covers and fell into a drug induced sleep.

John was headed back on the tube when he saw him. The lad couldn’t have been more that 19, but he was beautiful. The slicked back hair so dark brown you could barley tell it wasn’t black. Pale skin with a few freckles dusted over his cheeks. Sharp cheekbones and wonderfully blue eyes. The eyes were slightly dull, glazed over from some drug john thought. He was perfect. Sherlock at uni. Sherlock when he was the most alone and the most in danger. John didn’t even think when he got off two stops before his as he followed the boy. It took five hours of stalking from club to club. He watched as the boy lost more of his clothes at each party. John was burning with jealous rage as the boy finally headed up to a fairly rundown apartment complex. John followed. He watched the boy pause long enough to put out his cigarette on the side of the building before being let into a apartment on the third floor by a man that john hated the moment the tall overly tattooed man let his eyes wander over what was now john’s . It was barley a challenge to break into building. It took the army doctor ten minuets to get up to the window and inside the small apartment. What he saw inside made him feel cold and hot all at once. His boy. His Sherlock was in a bed that wasn’t his and riding a cock that wasn’t his. There were a couple of needles scattered around the floor. John took out his Sig Sauer. he had a good look around and finds a pillow casually dropped on the floor. Then he sees it. The closet, it’s door cracked open, but john knows what a drug den looks like by now. His Sherlock is whimpering and moaning on the mans cock and john is going to deal with him, but there will be time. The closet is stuffed full of drugs. From morphine to cocaine. John sees a industrial sized bottle of Viagra sat in front of a gallon bottle of lube. Who the hell did this man think he was, Casanova? Well not with his Sherlock. John pushed into the bedroom and fired twice through the pillow and into the filth on the bed. The boy looked stunned and confused as john pulled his blood spattered body off the bed.  
“Hey man what are you doing?”  
“Sit.” John said pushing the boy onto the couch in the main room.  
“Yeah Ok, but can I have my clothes.”  
John looked at the boy sitting in front of him. His pupils were blown huge and john was not sure if the boy was actually awake. All the better for him.The boy was shivering. John had left the window open and the London night was coming in.  
“Here.” John threw a blanket around the boys shoulders. “Stay here.” the boy just nodded and curled up blinking unseeingly at the gun in johns gloved hands. Then seemed to be falling into some sort of sleep. John watched for a moment then went to work. The needles were collected and wiped of prints. John found a large rucksack where he packed up the morphine and cocaine along with a few other goodies he found. The Viagra and lube found a place in the pack as well. John then went over the bedroom and collected his boys clothes. That was when he found that the bed itself had drawers and oh were they worth finding. Whips, paddles, handcuffs, gags, and blindfolds. John found several cock cages of different sizes and designs. Also a case that said sounds on the front, and once john had read the instructions on the inside smiled as his imagination ran wild. There were other things that he could only guess at and others that he had a vague idea about. He found a duffel bag in one corner and packed it all up anyway. John dressed the boy and all but carried him out of the building. No cameras or inquisitive neighbors no wonder Casanova lived there. John snagged a cab that got them close to the wear house, but still far enough away that john was sweating by the time he had doubled back and muddied their route that no one would be able to follow them,on foot or on CCTV.  
John let the boy fall onto the floor as he set down the packs on a large table that was once used in an office. The wall he was facing was teen yards across and filled with pictures and notes in Sherlocks elegant and illegible hand. String and thread of different colors wove its way back and forth in a map of webs. One connected to the other and all connected to a single hand drawn picture at the top. Moriarty. John had spent days looking and charting that wall when he had first found Sherlocks bolt hole. It was an old paper factory that had been abandoned ages ago. Sherlock had some how got his hands on it and now the whole thing belonged to john.  
After Sherlock had jumped john had gone into his room with every intention of ending his own life along with Sherlock. He had instead found over fifty thousand dollars, twice that in euros, and several thousand pounds. There were also two dozen passports with both his and Sherlocks faces on them and a list of addresses that Sherlock apparently owned. John never knew about any of this. Hell he doubted Mycroft knew about Sherlocks rainy day fund. It was when he found the passports that he had fallen apart. Sherlock was going to run and he would have brought john with him. They would have done it together. Then all he could think about where that last words Sherlock had said to him. “That’s what people do, don’t they? Leave a note.” John had refused to believe what he was hearing. He had refused even as he watched his friend, the man he had never got the chance to tell, the man he loved die. “Goodbye John.” That had been it, the last words that beautiful man had ever spoken. In those first few days where john had slept in Sherlocks bed and sent longing looks over at his gun he had realized something. “Friends protect people.” The last words he had spoken to Sherlock’s face. “That’s what people do don’t they.” Sherlock had given up on friends and love at some point in his life, but John had revived that hope. Friends help people so Sherlock had done the one thing he knew people did in hope that his friends would protect him. John had failed him. He would not fail him again.  
His phone started chirping at him.  
“John I need your help. If not for me then for molly -GL  
“She might get fired if we don’t solve this case -GL  
“They think she is purposefully hindering the investigation -GL  
“We need a second opinion. Please for molly -GL  
John knew that was untrue. Molly could be in trouble for her part in sheltering Sherlock in his last hours. She could be in trouble for continuous speaking out about Sherlock. She would never be questioned on her ability. John couldn’t take the chance. He had to go. For molly.  
“I’ll be at the morgue in two hours. don’t be there. -JW  
“I’m doing it for molly not you. -JW


	5. Meeting Molly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes to see Molly, Greg turns up and we get a case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, soooooo I'm a price of shit, but life is kind of like that too. So here is a new chapter. I'm sorry it took me so long.

John pulled the young Sherlock into the converted office space. His sweet Sherlock, the one chained to the bed. The sweet thing was still asleep. The blanket pulled up to his chin and a hand still imprinted on the smooth neck. The younger man was set on a chair while john got the ropes. John let himself feel while he stripped the boy. He knew he didn’t have much time at the moment. And that when he got back from dealing with Greg he would take his time to memories his new boys body. It took him almost fifteen minuets to get the boy tied up. He dropped a kiss on the tousled head.  
“Fuck.” John didn’t want to leave his new Sherlock. The sweet thing looked so very pretty in his bondage. He looked just ready for… John tears himself away. By the time he heads out he had sorted the two bag he had taken from the drug dealer and organized his haul. He also left a few gifts for his two play mates. His Sherlock was left with leather cuffs gold silk lining the inside, and a large red ball strapped into that mobile mouth. For the boy a stainless steel cage encased the soft hairless cock, and a spider gag holding the pink lips continually open. He smiled on the tube as he thinks about his Sherlock waking up to find he is not alone. The tube is crowded with people on their way to work and john knows he looks looks rough. The same clothes from two days ago and dark circles under his eyes. Most people on the tube see a man who does not want to be there, if they see him at all.  
When he got to the morgue he didn’t stop or look around at the rooftop. He saw it every time he closed his eyes. He walked around the spot he stood and watched his world fall apart. He shut his eyes and promised himself that if Greg showed his face, he wouldn’t even try to not punch him. When he got inside, Molly was waiting with a cup of coffee.  
“You look tired. How much sleep have you been getting.”  
“Hi Molly, it’s good to see you too.” John said as he walked into the examination room. He was smiling. Truly happy to see his awkward friend.  
“Oh God John, I’m sorry. Of course I’m glad to see. We missed you. We were worried about you.” John smiles at her. She was exactly the same as when Sherlock fell, all the best parts of their companionship. Like a time bubble made flesh.  
“Who’s we molly. You get a boyfriend I don ‘t know about. “The mortician blushes furiously and stutters out.  
“Well me and Greg have gone on a few drinks, but until his divorce comes through he refuses to do anything else. He really is a gentleman. I’ve never had that before. I mean besides… John?”  
“You’re dating Lestrade?” John feels a cold fire rush through him  
“Well like I said we’re not dating or anything like that, but I can’t imagine it not getting there. Like I said when the divorce goes through. She really was a horrible woman and treated Greg like dirt. But he...”  
“How could you do that. Molly, Greg let Sherlock die. He could have helped. He should have helped. Moriarty set the music and Greg danced along with it. He didn’t believe me when I told him about Mycroft or Moriarty. He didn’t believe me about Sherlock. He didn’t believe in Sherlock. He didn’t believe in Sherlock” He started out shouting, but by the end he sitting on his ass with his face buried in his hands.  
“Oh john I’m so sorry. I should have known. Greg feels terrible about his part in Sherlock’s death. He almost resigned.” John interrupted.  
“He didn’t though did he. He’s still there. I thought I could trust him. Sherlock though he could trust him.”  
“John. I… I don’t know what to say.”  
“You know Sherlock wasn’t a fake. You know he was everything he always said he was.”  
“I know John. I believed in Sherlock Holmes. I still do.”  
“He loved you molly. Maybe not like you wanted, but you were still loved.”  
“I know. It took a while to figure that out. Longer to be OK with it, but I know.”  
They sat on the floor in silence for a time. Both of them thinking about the first time they had met Sherlock Holmes.  
“Does he make you happy?”  
“Greg. Yes he does. I mean its only been social drinks twice, but I feel good around him. Sort of like I did with Sherlock, but this is reciprocated. It’s a lot healthier. For the both of us.”  
“I’m still pissed at him.”  
“I know, but I am glad you wanted to help. I was worried.” John grimaced as he found the lie he had been looking for.  
“Greg told you I wanted to help.”  
“well yeah.”  
“Molly. He told me you were going to be fired if I didn’t help. That is the only reason I came back to this place.” Molly froze, her eyes wide in realization.  
“Oh god he lied to me.”  
“Molly, is it true you could lose your job?”  
“I don’t know. I knew I was on thin ice after I refused to shut up about Sherlock. I don’t think they’d fire me for not being able to help, but...” At that moment the door slammed open to reveal Greg.  
It wasn’t like the films where time stretches out and the lights get bright and it's all in slow motion. No not like that at all. John walks up and punches the detective. Greg falls to the ground as Molly lets out a sharp gasp.  
“You fuck. You absolute dick. I came here because… do you think I want to be here where he…” John is panting. Standing above Greg with murder in his eyes. John physically couldn’t get the words out he is so angry. So he doesn’t use his words, he uses his fists. He got a few good hits to Greg’s face, as well as a satisfying crack with his shoe made contact with the detectives ribs. Molly pulled him of the cowering inspector after another few kicks.  
“God do you have any idea what it’s like to be back here. All I see is him. I met him here you fucking prick. I watched him die here and now you are using the only good left of him.” He made a gesture at molly at this and then stopped. What was the use? Lestrade was useless. He never believed in Sherlock. He just used him. That’s all he ever did, use them. John, Sherlock, Molly. Used them.  
“Fucking hell I forget you were in the army.”  
“You shut your mouth.”  
“Greg shut up.”  
Molly looked at john as they both spoke at once. She looked surprised, John didn't.  
“Look John I know what you think of me.”  
“Oh you don’t want to know what I think about when I think about you.”  
Oh he could see it now, the blood the screams the pain. Almost enough to… NO, never.  
Lestrade actually looked a little scared as his eyes met johns at that moment.  
“Just let me explain.” Greg was going to say more but john didn’t give him the chance.

The doctor felt his arm connect with Greg's nose. He let the pained wail satisfy him that it was truly broken. Blood on the floor of molly's morgue dully registered on johns mind as a bad thing. It registered as death, blood on the pavement meant death. Sherlock was dead and he had never told the him that john loved...  
"John? John look at me. You're all right. My god Greg look what you did." Molly sounded far way, like he was under water. If john was underwater that would explain why he was having such a hard time breathing.  
"What I did. He just broke my nose." Greg's voice sounded even more muffled than Molly's and slightly slurred as well. John's vision was coming back and he hadn't even noticed when it had first gone. Molly was kneeling next to him as he had apparently fallen and pressed his back against the island work surface.  
"Take it slow John, remember to breath." Molly helped him take two gasping breaths, his were desperate and wet and nothing like the beautiful harmony he had pulled out of the man he had in bed just a few hours before. His Sherlock. His Sherlock was waiting for him. He had to get back. John lurched to his feet. That never forgotten name half out of his mouth before he saw the picture. Scattered on the ground like leaves. Sherlock. His Sherlock smiling and shaking hands with someone in a suit. His Sherlock the same Sherlock he had spread across a bed half way across London. He had to get back now. Greg blocked his way by picking up the photograph.  
"This is why I'm here." John just stared at the picture until it was replaced by a different one.

Sherlock the picture was from the night john had meet him. John was in a bar trying to drown in a pint. Then a bustling party rushed through the door. And there he was. John had spent the night following him. The party at the bar turned into drinks at his apartment and then there were only three. His Sherlock being pawed at by a large woman with breasts to fake to even believe, while another man sat on the couch and touched himself. The door opened for him, like a gift. They hadn't even locked it. It was a sign. Proof that it was meant to be. The fur coat he found in the closet was perfect and silenced his shot well. The couple on the bed never even heard their audience die. Then he took his time lining up the shot that splattered brains all over the bed spread. Sherlock never got to scream before there was a gun in his mouth. John had pulled him up and shoved him in the shower.  
"Please don't kill me. I'll do anything you want. Just please don't kill me." That first taste of fear. The way he had begged so sweetly for his life. Just like he had begged so sweetly for john to fuck him.  
"Sherlock." John whispered  
"Sherlock!" Molly gasped  
"His name is actually Keven. Keven McAlister, but yeah he's a dead ringer for Sherlock. " Both molly and john turned to look at Greg. The blood had stopped dripping from his nose, but his face still looked horrible. He was using molly's freshly bloodstained lab coat to wipe away the worst of the mess. "McAlister was kidnapped ten days ago. No one has seen or heard from him since his cast party. Apparently he was a big star in c grade movies, before he got picked up for the stage that is.  
Johns hands were shaking as he held the picture in his hands in the upper left corner of the picture you could see the back of one John H. Watson. His hat was on backwards and his coat wrinkled and dirty. John held his breath.  
"Look John help me please. Comeback to the world of the living. We miss you John, we worry about you."  
"I'll help you." John had closed his eyes and was desperately not thinking about all those times when Sherlock had looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered in the world. Those usually happened after Lestrade had failed to defend him, especially against one of Donovan's crueler comments.  
"I'll help you," said john with gritted teeth."On one condition."  
"What do you want John?"  
"I want you to tell me Sherlock Holmes was everything you told me he was when we first met."  
"John I know Sherlock was for real. I believe in Sherlock Holmes."  
"That's not what you said. If you believed in Sherlock you've believed in Moriarty as well."  
"John I believe in that. Sherlock was telling the truth before he got up on the roof, I don't know why he had to lie to you like that, but don't doubt it was to protect you from something."  
Wait what. That's not... Was Greg lying. He hadn't said that before. He had believed the lies. he had believed Moriarty. Hadn't he?  
"Look. After Sherlock... Well after that I didn't have much. My wife moved out, took the kids with her and I was left with the death of my marriage and the death of the most brilliant man I had ever met. I couldn't loose my job too. I'd have ended up worse than Anderson. I'm sorry John. I'm sorry I let you down." Lestrade was looking at John like he could give him forgiveness. As if john could make it ok if he said that Lestrade was forgive. John could not make it ok. Nor did he want to.  
"Ill help for molly. I'll help for Sherlock. This is professional. Don't try to make it anything its not." John watched the hope die from the Directive inspectors eyes and knew he was understood

"Give me the file and ill look over it. I'll come by the crime scene tomorrow. I expect Sherlock's usual fee." He had to leave. John said a quick 'goodbye, call me sometime and we can talk.' To molly, grabbed the heavy file folder from Greg and almost ran out of the room. He had to get back. He had to get back to his Sherlock before john lost him again.


	6. A Reintroduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at the warehouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im lookong for a beta to make things go faster and to just be better in general. Anyone interested?

John ran from the hospital and was half way back to the wearhouse before he realized. The cameras. Were they following him? He couldn't tell. He couldn't remember. Shit. John turned down a dark side street and found himself in the middle of a street fair. Was it a holiday he didn't know about? It didn't matter it was perfect. He could pick up some food and muddy the waters at the same time. Sherlock. God John needed to get back. He needed to hold the man In his arms and press his lips to the soft curls. Let the younger one watch for a bit. Get a good look at what to expect. Maybe have Sherlock show his younger self how to please their... Oh their master. John liked that. He liked that a lot. Focus, food. A couple more loops around the immediate area and finally settled on a curry for himself, and soup and sandwich for his two lovers. It took him another half hour to get back but he finally made it. John quietly let himself in and locked it behind him. He put down the bags and peeked through the door window.They were awake. His Sherlock was lying on the bed still and relaxed watching the younger pet struggle in his chair. John stood and watched for a minute as the young one pulled at the ropes. His wrists were bloody from his desperate attempts at escape. John almost smiled. His little Sherlock had spirit. That spark that had attracted John to his original. He went and got the food before opening the door. The poor boy almost screamed. John simply stood there for a moment pretending this was a scene he hadn't been spying on. He walked over to the bed and lay the food cartons down on the floor next to it. His Sherlock was looking between him and the boy with frightened eyes. He truly did look good dresses in fear. It made his Sherlock so sweet, so submissive, so very pliant. John unstrapped the ball gag from his mouth and immediately covered it with his own. He was expecting a timed kiss, possibly for Sherlock to turn away from him. He was surprised to have the man surge up into him. His Sherlock opened his mouth wide and willingly, pushing his tongue into johns mouth. John pulled back surprised at the forward actions of his shy little virgin. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but before he could John dove back down to reclaim the sweet red mouth. This time he didn't give Sherlock a chance to act. John took what he wanted, with his tongue, his lips and a teeth. His Sherlock whimpered beneath him and melted into the mattress. He returned johns kisses as well as he could and even pushed up into them when he was given the opportunity. John finally stopped his conquest and smiled down at the body beneath his. "Well that's a lovely way to be welcomed home." His Sherlock gave a small smile looking unsure if he was allowed to speak on not. John chuckled and sat up. He secured Sherlock's ankles to the floor with the chain he had used before and released the mans hands. His Sherlock sat up and imedeatly moved to touch johns shoulder. The soft, hesitant touch amused John. He took the mans hand in his and pressed a kiss to the fingers. "What's going on in that big brain of yours love." John knew his sherlock was worried. He could see it in the mans every move. "why..." His Sherlock paused as if he didn't have the words for what he wanted to ask. It was truly adorable. "Come on love. It's ok. Talk to me." John encouraged. "Why is he here." His Sherlock jerked his dark curls to indicate the boy bound to the chair. John looked over and really got a look at the boy. He was sweating and bleeding, with wide eyes full of fear and panic. He sat stock still as if he could escape notice by not moving. The spider gag had long since started dripping the boys saliva down the tightly muscled chest and torso. The cock cage John had taken almost to much pleasure in attaching was sure to be cold and pinching by now. His boy looked glorious. "Look at him love. He's just like you. My Sherlock. Young and dangerous and perfect for the taking. He's here because he's perfect." John smiled at the terror that shone out on the young boy. "Was I not good? I can be better. You don't need someone else. I'll be better." His Sherlock clutched at him. A similar terror etched into his face. He pulled John away from the chair and tried to crush their mouths together. John pulled away. He was unsure. What was this? Why was his Sherlock suddenly so...unsure. Why so desperate. John pulled away. Sherlock fueled by some sort of panic clung to his chest and started begging. "Please. I'll be good...I'll be good. I'll make it good. I'll make it good. Please, please. Just...let me try again and ill make it good. I'll be good. I'll be better. I didnt try and run. I didn't run. Please...don't. You don't have to replace me." The last sentence was said with the mans lips clawing at his neck. Almost in hope of kissing his way to safety. John let his Sherlock kiss him for a few moments. While the boy in the corner whimpered and writhes in his bonds. "Please. I'll be good." His Sherlock whispered in to his ear. His hands shook as he unbuttoned johns shirt. However his Sherlock kept at it until his could kiss his way down. John let him. John let his Sherlock kneel on the floor and pull him out of his trousers. Those sinful lips kissed his shaft and took him in. John let his head fall back and he let out a grown of utter ecstasy. He didn't remember closing his eyes, but when they opened he saw his young Sherlock bound to a chair looking on in what could only be described as envious agony. Truly envious of the pleasure John was receiving, but in agony about that very fact. The cage John had fitted him with was indeed what some would call cruel. It was tight and spiked. Perfect and just what he wanted. John grinned at the his boy and let his fingers wander down. He gripped the perfect hair and used it to set a quick pace. More so he could feel the tightest suction sherlocks mouth could provide while still putting on a show for the younger version. "You see love. I take good care of my pets." He pushed the mouth down till he felt it gag and convulse. He closed his eyes and pushed down harder. Till he heard panicked sounds and fingers frantically trying to get his attention. Then he wrenched the head back and watched intently as his sherlock coughed, sputtered, and drank in lungfulls of air. John reached out to hold the panting tongue between his thumb and finger. "I take good care of pets that obey their master." John licked the side of sherlocks face. Just because he knew the effect it would have. The younger one shivered and wimpered. The poor thing shook like a leaf. While his sherlock simply closed his eyes and kept still. Only a week and a bit and his sherlock was trained so well. John gave himself a mental pat on rhe back before continuing. " Now love." He had his sherlock open his eyes and look at him for this. "I'm not even thinking of replacing you. I love my new pet, and i cant wait to see you play together, but no one will replace you. You my sweet, dear pet are mine. Mine to have and hold. To pleasure and punish. To love and kiss. You are mine to do whatever i like with. If you disobey you will be punished. Do you you understand?" His sherlock looked at him and if there had been any hope left, john saw it die. The young boy was wimpering and pulling at his restraints having the same luck he had before. Sherlock simply looked at him and said. "Yes, I understand." John kisses him. It was all teeth and tounge. John bit down hard and tasted the coppery tang of blood. His sherlock whined , but didnt pull away. John licked up the red liquid as if it were ambrosia. "Master. Yes you understand, Master." Sherlocks eyes widened and his fingers twitched, but he was already john's. "Yes, I understand master." Teenage sherlock began to cry softly in the corner. His eyes fixed on john. John laughed and then guided sherlock back to his aching cock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am proud of this chapter. It took me ages to finish, but its done. I did it all in like 3-6 sentence bits between work and school.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment!!! Your words keep me writing!


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